


Nothing Stands Between Us

by RhineGold



Series: into the sea of waking dreams [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Endgame, F/M, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Storytelling, goldenswan - Freeform, lots of inaccurate AU stuff following 'The Return'., role-played incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29712768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhineGold/pseuds/RhineGold
Summary: In which the false Baelfire is able to control Gold with the dagger in The Return.Filth. Absolute Terrifying Times for Gold. And Emma is a Good Soul.
Relationships: Pinocchio | August Booth/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold/Emma Swan
Series: into the sea of waking dreams [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183643
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	1. ...I'll Hold You Down...

**Author's Note:**

> My unauthorized sequel to the first part of Yarking’s brilliant "Ignition." This begins where the first section, [August Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things](https://ouatkinkmeme.livejournal.com/754.html?thread=929522) leaves off. Yark’s is waaaaay better, obviously, but this happened. 
> 
> What if August HAD been able to control Gold with the dagger? (Reading Ignition is not necessary but highly recommended because it is fucking fantastic).

~*~

“I want to hear you…”

Gold wrenches his head to the side, gasping in a breath that is so ragged and so deep he can feel it where their chests are pressed together. August sinks his hands into that long, loose hair, tugging him back sharply until their eyes meet. Gold looks tired, miserable, and angry, and that just won’t do. 

He shakes him firmly, thrusting deeper, wringing a low grunt from the other man. “I want to hear you,” he repeats more savagely this time, forcing his head up until his back arches to escape the pressure. “You will let me hear you. You will whimper and moan and sob under me. You will struggle as best you can, but it will never be enough. We both know that. I own you, I control you. You are mine. You will know you are mine and you will hate it. You will fear me, and my power over you. You will fear this touch, this contact. You will fear displeasing me, fear angering me. When you displease me, and when I come to you like this - when I touch you and I take you, I want you to remember that misery and grief you felt in the woods that night, when you lost your boy. I want you to associate that endless pain and your own damned cowardice with what I do to you when I take you. I want you to suffer, each and every time, and I want you to sob and plead and struggle to no avail. Do you understand?”

“…Yes…” Gold’s voice is barely more than a breath, his eyes already widening as he tries to shy away from August’s hands, his mouth, and the penis splitting him in half. There are tears there now, welling up to mist over the almost distressingly large brown pupils. 

August thrusts down harder, turned on more than ever as Gold whimpers and pushes weakly at his shoulders. “You’re mine, Rumpelstiltskin…” He whispers, again and again, stabbing roughly into the other man with all the force he can muster. 

Gold shudders and lets his hair cover those magnificent eyes and August allows this because the result is stunningly vulnerable and oh-so satisfying. With a groan, he empties himself into the older man’s body, wringing another soft sound of protest as Gold shudders beneath him in revulsion and what must now feel like fear.

Abstractly, August wonders if Gold is just a talented actor who must now consciously make the choices to meet his demands, but he finds it more likely that the magic of the dagger works differently, forcing Gold to feel and do what he is ordered. He wrenches his head up again to kiss him brutally as he withdraws. Pulling back, he sees the unhappiness on Gold’s face, undercut with, yes, genuine-reading fear. He allows himself a small smile and reaches out to pet the man’s flank. His libido flares when Gold flinches, and August smiles. 

“You may clean yourself up and then get back in the bed. No clothes.” He stretches out on the rumpled sheets, crossing his arms behind his head, legs sprawled. The magic he is forcing into the world via his control is working wonders for his limbs. Already, he can feel the flexibility and the heat of human musculature returning. If Gold has noticed how unyielding parts of his body have been, he hasn’t indicated it. 

After about twenty minutes, the older man limps out of the bathroom, stumping heavily on his cane. In his other hand, he clutches a towel, low on his hips, and August licks his lips at the sight. Gold looks worn and timid, completely vulnerable, as he slowly eases himself on the bed. His hand opens and closes over the towel as he struggles against the impulse to remove it. 

Sitting up, August leans over him, pressing one hand to his smooth, bare chest. His other clenches over Gold’s wrist, forcing him to release the towel. “Very clever…” He murmurs, looking down at him almost fondly. “A towel’s not clothes, yes.” Just as suddenly, August cracks his arm across Gold’s face, bruising that strong cheekbone, making the man yelp as he curls away. “…Never defy me again, do you understand me?!” He roars, one hand curling around his throat. 

Gold struggles, eyes widening, but his grip is weak and undefined. August smirks as he finally goes limp beneath him, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and down into his hair. 

Leaning down, he licks at those tears, before raking his teeth across the bruise on his cheek, darkening it and bringing blood to the surface. “There, there…” He whispers, petting his naked thigh gently. “Sleep now. We’ll continue getting to know one another tomorrow, I’m sure…”

~*~


	2. ...Kiss You So Hard...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August continues to torment Gold. Emma gets involved.

~*~

It has been three days since anyone has seen Gold. Finally, a hesitant Archie comes to see Emma in the sheriff’s office, awkwardly asking her to check in on the man, for reasons he can’t disclose. Emma’s not sure which is more puzzling - that apparently Mr. Gold has been to see Archie in a professional capacity, or that Archie is actually concerned for the man. She assures him she’ll do a drive-by of his store and home to check up on him. 

Gold is not in his shop and the doors are locked up tight. Undeterred, Emma arrives at the large, festively-painted house, pleased to see a light on within. 

Parking down the street, she carefully makes her way to the porch, following it around to the lit window. She is surprised by what she finds.

The missing pawnbroker is seated at his dining room table, arms braced almost awkwardly on the polished wooden surface. He is in a state of undress Emma has never seen before - barefoot, in slacks with only a loose white shirt, untucked, half-buttoned, and rolled up at the sleeves. For a moment, it is all she can do to stare at his arms, noting the thin, almost delicate wrists that she has never seen before. It is only then that she notices Gold is not alone in the room.

August W. Booth stands across from him, smiling faintly, carrying a glass of alcohol in one hand. In his other, he is toying absently with Gold’s cane, spinning the eponymous handle in his fingertips. Leaning back against the wall, he drains the glass. 

Emma can’t make out their words through the heavy, leaded glass, but when August sets the glass down with more force than is necessary, Gold flinches and averts his eyes. That’s when Emma sees the bruise on his cheek and really notices the hollow expression and the shadows around his eyes. Gold looks terrible, but August looks… content. 

Deciding she’s seen enough, Emma shoulders back and bangs on the front door. 

It is August who lets her in, all smiles and gentle charm, but she makes a beeline for the dining room, surprised to find Gold in the exact same position, still staring at the tabletop. He looks worse up-close. She can see the bruising on his cheek, purple and red where the blood has broken the surface. His fingers on the tabletop are tense and clawed. 

“Gold?” She asks softly and he jumps as if he hadn't noticed she was there.

“Mr. Gold’s not feeling well today,” August butts in, still smiling pleasantly. ”Isn't that right, Mr. Gold?” He prompts.

Gold looks up then, eyebrows drawn up in an expression of misery, and he nods shakily. “Yeah, yeah… Feeling under the weather…” His voice is hoarse and breathy and Emma realizes there is a bruise on his throat at the same moment he thinks to cover it with his hand. 

This is wrong. This is beyond wrong. Emma’s seen enough victims in her life to realize that someone has hurt Gold very badly. It’s hard to reconcile the obvious trauma with the stubborn, proud man she knows, and even harder still to connect pleasant, shining August to this whole affair. 

She realizes August is watching Gold with an expression that is not tender, not kind. And Gold continues to stare at the tabletop, one hand curled up around his neck, making him look decades younger and completely lost. 

Ignoring August, she leans over, voice urgent and low, “Mr. Gold, if there’s something you need to tell me…”

“You don’t need to tell her anything,” August undercuts her concern with his pleasant, calm voice. “…Do you, Mr. Gold?”

Gold’s eyes flicker uneasily between the two of them before returning to the tabletop. “…No. I don’t have anything to tell.”

“Gold!” Emma snaps, exasperated, feeling guilty immediately when he flinches. She realizes that whatever is going on, she’s never going to get a straight answer out of him while August is in the room. She stares at the writer, her natural dislike of bullies suddenly at war with her overall concept of him as a decent guy. 

“Emma,” August says smoothly, “I think it’s time Mr. Gold had a rest. He’s not well and he’s had a busy day.”

“Doing what, exactly?” She snaps.

August shrugs. “Whatever it was, it’s obviously taken a lot out of him.”

Turning her back on August, she returns her attention to Gold. Hesitantly, she reaches out, curving one hand over his shoulder, her fingers brushing his where he held his neck. “…People are starting to notice you've been MIA the past few days. They’re worried about you.”

He glances up at her, eyes wide and shining with an emotion she can’t identify, before he looks back at August and curls back in on himself.

“Please, Gold… Whatever your first name is… If there’s something you need to say, please say it. Don’t worry about the consequences,” She glares at August as she says this.

Faintly, Gold makes a sound that might have been a chuckle, and he nods stiffly. ”Thank you for your concern, Sheriff.” 

“Hey…” She whispers, brushing his fingers again before withdrawing her hand, ”…Anytime.”

~*~

Gold continues to stare at the tabletop long after the front door has closed. He doesn't move when August comes to stand just behind him. He hasn't been given permission to. He jumps when a hand claps over his mouth, forcing his head back. 

August leans down over him, bending his head at an unnatural angle as he snarls at him. “Don’t you EVER do that again! Making me look oh-so-guilty with your poor-me act! She fucking asks you what’s wrong, you goddamned lie to her convincingly, you understand me? I know you know how, damn it!”

Despite himself, he can feel the tears smarting at the corners of his eyes. He hates this, hates this man, but it is somehow easier to endure if he can lose himself in crying. His body recoils now, despite itself, and he cannot help but panic when August touches him. His guilt, shame, and self-loathing all crest in a sort of terror, making him whimper, making him sob. He knows this is August’s doing, the command given to him that first night subsequently colouring their encounters, but it feels so easy, so natural to fall into this kind of fear. All his life, he has known he is a coward, and now, he feels just like that weak and humble spinner again, only worse - so much worse. 

“No, please…” He begs softly when August drags him up and flings him across the table. It is all he can do to brace himself as his trousers are pulled away easily. August has not allowed him to wear undergarments, so this bares him completely to the other man’s hungry gaze. He whimpers despite himself, hating the terror coiled in his belly, hating the man touching him and himself for being so weak as to let this happen. 

When August’s fingers press into him, he closes his eyes, moaning. This seems different somehow, as though August is not just trying to hurt him, but to do something else. His eyes snap open when he feels August reach around and cup his fingers over his soft penis. “No, what…”

“Shhhh… No talking,” August orders, making his throat clench up automatically, “Just sounds. I just want to hear those delicious little sounds you make, my own little Dark One…” 

Gold shivers, hips bucking as he tries to crawl forward on his elbows to escape the other man. His pleas come out as whimpers now, tiny, high-pitched sounds. What progress August has made towards arousing him dies as the man pushes inside of him, making him grunt with pain and then keen with grief. 

“No, no, no…” August whispers, reaching for him again, his fingers a gentle counterpoint to the brutal motion of his hips. “I want you to feel pleasure from this… I want you to get off on my hurting you, and to hate yourself even more for it, knowing what a filthy little slut you are. You’ll never say anything to anyone about me doing this to you, because you’ll never live down the shame… Mighty Mr. Gold, who gets off on being raped… What a sick fuck…”

“Please, don’t…” He moans, trembling now in his efforts to fight his body’s response to his master’s commands. “Please, anything but that…”

“No, no… That’s all that will do… Now, call me Baelfire and beg me to fuck you until you come, you son of a bitch.” 

Gold resists the curse. He struggles to bite down the words in his throat, but eventually, he feels faint, his vision dimming and going black around the edges. He is hard in August’s hand now and the shame of it burns on his cheeks as he whispers, “Please, Bae… Please, more…”

“I can’t hear you, Papa…” August grunts, thrusting harder, and Gold can FEEL him getting harder inside of him as this turns him on further. 

“Bae, PLEASE! I need… I need… Oh, please…”

“Tell me not to stop… Beg me to do it harder!” August snarls, one hand wrapping around his throat, the other squeezing and stroking his arousal, wringing several long, broken cries from the man beneath him. 

“Don’t stop, Bae, please… I need it, oh… More, Bae… harder, please…” His voice is completely shattered now, tears streaming down his face and he cannot breathe through this miasma of shame. His spine wrenches, back twisting as he feels the lightening bolt of pleasure burst through him. 

August’s teeth find his bruised throat as he spills over the man’s hand. Gold sobs brokenly, unable to cope with this onslaught of pleasure and torture, and August is brutal inside him now, bruising and tearing through him, faster and harder still. Finally, August roars, slamming his face against the tabletop, burying himself so deep Gold feels as though he’s been torn apart, the pain of his orgasm washing through his wounded flesh like acid. 

When the younger man withdraws, Gold remains sprawled across the tabletop, covered on both sides with sweat and filth from their orgasms. He cannot move, still bound by a command given hours before, and he lays there, panting and whimpering, one leg drawn up beside him, hands claws on the smooth wood. 

“Look at you…” August hums sweetly, squeezing his bruised hip affectionately. “You’re a filthy whore, Gold. That’s all you are. I want you to fear me and struggle against what I do to you, but I want you to hate yourself for how much you get off on being abused. After all, we both know you’d do anything to save your own skin.” 

Leaning over the table, August forces him onto his back. Gold does as directed, hands coming up to press against him weakly, eyes wet and pleading. Smilingly wolfishly, the writer devours his mouth, leaving his lips as raw and sore as the rest of him. “Next time, I think I’ll try that clever mouth of yours,” August murmurs, pulling him close in the parody of a lover’s embrace. “That’ll teach you to go looking for sympathy from people, won’t it?”

Gold nods shakily, unable to do more than agree.


	3. I'll Take Your Breath Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma struggles to help Gold, who does his best to work around the magical restrictions laid upon him

~*~

The morning sun is well overhead by the time Mr. Gold comes limping up the sidewalk towards the pawnshop. Emma lowers her newspaper slightly, eyes narrowing as she watches his slow progress. Gold still looks horrible - dark circles under his eyes, his bad leg dragging far more than usual. She can see that he has bandaged his bruised cheek and tugged a scarf around his throat despite the warmth of the day.

It takes him a long time to unlock the shop door and he glances over his shoulder as though he can sense her eyes following his every move. She resists the urge to duck behind her paper again, and finally he is inside. Reaching over, she kills the engine of Mary Margaret’s borrowed car, but waits a few more minutes before getting out.

The street is empty. It is a sleepy Thursday afternoon, and no one seems to have any business on this side of the town. Further down the road, she can hear a dog barking and the faint roar of a motorcycle, but that is all. Mary Margaret’s beloved birds are silent today and the quiet is a bit unnerving.

Finally, she squares her shoulders and jams her hands into her jacket’s pockets before setting out across the street. Gold is leaning against the counter, both arms spread out to support his weight as he stares at the polished wood blindly. When the bell jangles discordantly, his head jerks up and she cannot mistake the brief flare of fear in those wide eyes.

Reaching behind her, Emma flips the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’ once more. He swallows hard when he realizes this. His shoulders are hunched, but today his suit is as impeccable as ever. He is still wearing the scarf.

“…May I help you, Sheriff?” He asks finally, voice lower than she is used to hearing it.

“I need to know what’s going on,” she replies, coming closer to him.

His fingers tense on the counter top but he manages one of his twisted, bitter smiles. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Emma plants both of her palms on his counter, leaning across the space. He blinks at her almost sleepily, and doesn't jerk away. She looks at her splayed fingers and realizes that, once again, she is a breath away from touching him. “I need to know what’s going on with you and Booth.”

He chuckles then, a mirthless, strained sound, and he is turning away, busying himself with one of the boxes on the counter, leafing through old papers. His hand is shaking.

“Mr. Gold, if he’s hurting you…” she begins, but he interrupts her, voice flat.

“Thank you for you concern, Sheriff. I’m fine.” 

“You are NOT fine!” She snaps, pounding her fist on the counter, feeling her stomach twist at the way he tries not to flinch. “Look at you! You’re barely keeping it together!”

It hurts to see this man this way. She is accustomed to Gold being the sort of man who can take anything and still be standing. Now he looks like he’s been beaten and a strong wind might knock him over.

His eyes are angry now and he jerks one arm towards her in an abortive, flailing motion. “I said I am fine, Miss Swan! I’ll thank you to leave my shop. I have work to do.”

“Okay, you know what? Fine. I didn't want to do it this way, but I will.” Emma reaches into her back pocket in a well-practiced movement, bringing the cuffs out and up between them. Before he can think to jerk his wrist away, she snaps one end around his left wrist, pulling it upwards.

“You’re ARRESTING me?!” He cries, anger gone now, replaced by pure shock.

“I’m taking you into protective custody until I can get to the bottom of this,” She answers, tugging on his captured wrist, indicating he should step around the counter.

“You can’t be serious…” He protests numbly, trying to jerk back his arm to no avail.

“…As a heart attack. Come on. Let’s go.”

“Where?” He asks faintly, stumbling around the counter, barely remembering to grab up his cane to catch his weight.

“The station, for starters. I’ll get us some lunch and we can talk. No cells. Just the holding room.”

He digs his heels in suddenly, making her turn when she realizes the cuff she is pulling is cutting hard into his wrist. Gold has gone ridged, staring at her with wide eyes, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps that rattle his thin chest.

“Gold…” She says crossly, “Seriously, come on.”

His posture waivers and a shudder ripples through his body. He looks as though he is on the verge of collapse and he is barely breathing at all now, seconds away from hyperventilating. “…I can’t…” He whispers, barely audible.

“What do you mean, you can’t? It’ll be fine. It’s safe.” She tries to soften her words in light of the obvious terror this situation is causing him. “…I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I can’t leave the shop…” He whispers, eyes on the floor now.

Emma catches him, one arm around his waist, as his knees buckle. His hair snaps back with his head and she gently lowers him to sit and lean against the counter. He hisses a breath when he comes in contact with the floor and she bites her lip. Gold presses his left hand to his forehead, the cuff dangling off one wrist. His shoulders shake with what appears to be a monumental effort to swallow some kind of breakdown, and he stays there, staring at the floor.

“What is he doing to you?” She whispers sadly, nothing but pity welling up in her now at the sight of this damaged creature.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Gold, he’s not here. He won’t know.”

“I’m not … at liberty to say…” He repeats, jaw clenching painfully, his breath coming in fast and short again.

“Whoa, whoa, okay, okay…” She raises her hands in surrender. Finally, after chewing on her lower lip for a long moment, she gets to her feet. He watches her circle around the desk, expression puzzled and wary. Eventually, Emma returns with a stack of paper and a pen. Crossing her legs, she drops back down beside him, handing them over. “Write it down. Draw a picture. Burn it and make a smoke signal. Just tell me what’s happening.”

He looks at her for a long moment, desperation warring with obvious fear in those wide brown eyes, and finally, hesitantly, he lifts his right hand. He seems almost surprised when his fingers curl around the ink pen and she recognizes that light in his eyes as a man who has discovered a loophole. She wonders sadly what sort of deal this man must have made this time, to be reduced to this.

“You won’t believe me,” He murmurs softly.

“Try me.”

In slanted, spidery writing, he begins, angling the paper so she can read it. _‘I am not a madman.’_ Emma comes around to sit beside him against the counter in order to make this easier. _‘Everything in Henry’s book is real.’_

Her head tilts to the side in an almost disappointed sigh as she studies his face. “Not this again…” She mumbles.

Expression angry, he underlines the last sentence twice, tapping it with the pen for emphasis.

“Okay, okay. We’re all fairy tale people. What does this have to do with August?” She regrets her glib tone when he flinches and she pats his hand comfortingly. If framing this in the narrative of Henry’s fictional world makes it easier to share, she decides, it’s worth it to get the story out of him.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, he begins again. _‘In that other life, I was a very powerful sorcerer. I made deals with mundane folk, magic in exchange for various payments.’_

“So which one are you in Henry’s book?” She asked softly.

He gave her a searing, searching look, trying to detect any mockery. Finding none, he continued, _‘I am not in Henry’s book particularly. There are veiled references to a seer, a sorcerer, a beast… That is me.’_ Seeing her searching expression, he adds, _‘I deliberately framed it this way.’_

“YOU wrote Henry’s book?”

He shrugs, mouth twisting into the U-shaped expression she’s come to associate with him being nonplussed. It’s a relief to see so familiar and casual an expression on his face.

Still, she has to get to the bottom of this, so Emma gently touches his arm. “Gold, I need to know about August.”

Nodding faintly, he exhales. He looks so pale, the skin under his eyes so bruised. Biting his lip, he continues, _‘I was a mortal man once. A spinner. I had a son, my darling boy. I lost him when I gained my magic. I was a fool and a coward and I lost him. I thought that B…’_

He trails off abruptly, his pen skittering jerkily across the page as though outside of his control. Gold’s expression shifts into a set snarl and he attacks the paper again with more aggression than is strictly necessary. Scribbling out the attempt at a word, he moves to the next line, _‘I thought I might have found my son and I stupidly gave him the opportunity to have an advantage over me. He is not my son.’_ He underlines the word _‘stupidly’_ twice and looks up at her for comprehension.

“So you thought Booth was your son? But he isn’t. And somehow this gives him power over you?” Emma repeats slowly.

Rubbing his face with his left hand, Gold taps the paper twice. _‘My magic is bound in an enchanted dagger. Whoever holds the dagger commands me. I meant to give my son the dagger but I created a master instead.’_

Emma nods to herself. It sounds crazy, but Gold seems fairly level-headed most of the time and he certainly seems sincere now. August is clearly, clearly hurting him, and Gold seems powerless to prevent it. Emma does not believe in magic; does not believe in fairy tales, and yet…

“Mr. Gold, can you tell me what he’s done to you?”

He shakes his head tightly, the same tight, panicked expression flitting over his features.

“Okay, okay. You can’t tell me. Can you write it?”

The pen trembles in his hands and he finally shakes his head sadly.

Sighing, Emma leans back against the desk, eyes on the ceiling. “Okay. Let’s try this. Has he hit you?”

Gold bites his lip and his eyes quirk away.

Emma nods and makes a mental note. “Has he held you against your will?”

Again, he says nothing and does not move.

“Has he cut you? With the knife or with anything else?”

Gold shakes his head then, clasping his fingers together in his lap.

Nodding again, Emma runs a loose hand through her curls. Her next question will be the most difficult one, but it seems to be one that needs to be voiced. “Mr. Gold, has he raped you?”

The man beside her closes his eyes, turning his face away as he inhales a deep, shuddering breath. He says nothing and Emma’s heart sinks.

“I’m taking you into protective custody,” She whispers finally, but she reaches out to finally unlock the handcuff from his left wrist.

He shakes his head sadly, rubbing the bruised flesh ruefully, “I can’t leave the pawnshop until he comes for me this afternoon.”

“Gold, this… this dagger… You can’t… You can’t fight it?”

The shake of his head is tight and minute.

“I can’t just leave you with him.”

He looks at her then, his face as haunted as she as ever seen it, and he picks up the paper again, writing simply, _‘Take the dagger.’_

”You want ME to take your dagger?”

Gold shrugs, his expression showing that it is clearly the lesser of the two evils.

“How would I even…?”

_‘It doesn’t matter how. Even if you just walk in and grab it from him, that will suffice. Take it and read my name from the inscription, and I am yours to command.’_

“That’s really not an acceptable solution.”

_‘It’s the only solution.’_

“I’m not leaving you.”

_‘You can’t protect me, so long as he holds my dagger. You’ll only…’_

She instantly understands his unfinished thought. Reaching out, she gently touches his hand again. “I made him angry last night, didn't I? He took it out on you.” His silence is all the answer she needs. “What can I do to help you?”

_‘Get the dagger. But until then, stay out of sight. Stay away until you’re ready.’_ He seems to want to say more, but his hand is trembling now. His head snaps up and he pales. _‘He’s coming.’_ He scrawls quickly, trying to get to his feet.

Emma helps him as best she can, and he shoves her hard towards the back of the shop. “Back door…” He gasps hoarsely. “Go.”

“I’m not going to leave you here to…”

“He doesn't have it!” He snarls, his voice sounding like it is ripping and tearing. “Not on him. Find it! I’ll…”

“Distract him? Gold, that’s not a solution!”

“PLEASE,” He gasps out, the words clearly torturing him as he forces them out. “HELP ME.” He clutches at her arms and she can feel him trembling. With a shaky hand, he presses the paper containing his conversation into her palm. She takes it reflexively, not wanting to know what would happen if August found it.

Exhaling so quickly it is almost a sob; Emma reaches up and curves her hand around the back of his head, threading her fingers gently through his hair. “I’ll save you,” She promises, their faces inches apart.

“I believe you,” He whispers, eyes wide and wet.

She releases him and spins away, ducking through the curtain and into the back room. In seconds she is out the back door and into the alley, in time to hear the shop door’s bell ring out. After a moment of paralyzing indecision, she hurries back to the car, deciding to start with Granny’s and go from there.

~*~

Gold looks up as August sweeps into the room. He attempts to appear natural, half-turned towards one of his displays as though organizing it, but his heart is thudding in his chest and his body is shaking now.

“You didn't open the shop,” August says softly, not quite a growl.

Panic flits through him as he recalls his morning command, _‘Open the shop. Business as usual. Don’t say my name to anyone. You don’t speak to anyone on the way. You go straight there and don’t you dare step outside until I come for you.’_

“…I did open the shop,” He protests weakly. He had. He had flipped the sign upon entering, business as usual, but Emma had turned it back when she arrived.

“What have I told you about defying me?” The younger man is terrifying like this, looming over him.

The grip of fear Gold feels is partially required of him, but it is becoming more natural by the moment during this affair. He cringes despite himself when August catches him by the hair. The twisting pressure on his scalp continues until he leans into the hand. Off-balance, Gold staggers sideways, crying out as his hair is pulled, some strands breaking off in the other man’s hand. He falls hard to his hands and knees and August is pulling him to sit at an unnatural angle, back arched, resting on both knees.

He knows what is coming, what had been all-but promised the night before, before August even unfastens his belt. He has never done this before and the prospect is horrific.

“Don’t worry, Papa,” August whispers silkily, sensing his apprehension. “You’ll do a good job. You don’t have a choice…”


End file.
